Chapter Text
“Nonsense. I can't believe anyone would want to get in the Circle of their own free will."
"You know, for many of us the Circle has always been a home and a refuge, not a prison."
Geralt bit his tongue, scowling toward the old woman. "Oh, sure, who wouldn't like to share a cozy home with murderous bigots..."
Wynne shook her head, sighing. "I guess this conversation isn't going to get us anywhere, as usual."
"On that we can agree."
“The fact remains that young Dagna has asked us to deliver this letter to the First Enchanter, and that is precisely what I intend to do."
He tossed his hair back, trying to free it from the snow that had gotten caught in it, thinking back to how excited the little girl had seemed to be about going to study at Kinloch Hold. He didn't think they'd turn her down, in the state the tower was in it would have been moronic, rather he was sure she would have regretted it immediately. What would a dwarf do in a mage tower anyway...?
"Are you hoping they'll put a leash around her neck just like they did to you, old woman?"
Geralt hoped his gasp of surprise had gone unnoticed, hidden under fake coughs. "Morrigan."
The Witch of the Wilds looked at him with one eyebrow raised and a large tome in her hands, which he recognized instantly: Flemeth's real grimoire.
"I'm not going to waste my time with you two." Wynne said before getting up and taking what was left of her dinner with her, going to join the others gathered around the bonfire and intent on listening to one of Leliana's melodies.
Morrigan sat down next to Geralt, tapping her fingers on the book's binding. "You finally decided to ask for help from someone who knows more than you."
He huffed. "Of course, how can I compete with you and your swamp training, I who grew up among magical texts from all over the South?"
He didn't even scratch her. Morrigan's amused smirk, if possible, got even wider. "As if you haven't savored every single line of this grimoire worse than a child with candy. By the way, congratulations on breaking the seal, not bad for a bookworm."
Geralt shrugged. "Breaking seals on books that I wasn't exactly allowed to read was my favorite pastime at the Tower."
"Who would have guessed... In any case," She resumed lowering her voice to a whisper, her expression growing more serious, "what you've asked me is simply not possible. There is a way to escape certain death, but as things currently stand I doubt it will be easy to convince them. And anyway, 'tis only a... temporary situation."
"I don't give a damn about that dumbass, we don't have to save both of them."
Morrigan turned to the rest of the group, her gaze wandering over each of them. "Do you really think she'd let that happen?"
He feared the witch was right. He fell silent.
"I'm afraid you're wasting your time. Unless you resort to some trick of your own... expertise."
He grabbed her wrist roughly, tightening his grip. "I wouldn't dare." He said in an icy tone.
The other easily broke free from his grasp, opening her hand slowly. "Not even if it meant saving her life?"
Before he could answer her, she stood up and left him alone to mull over his thoughts.
Redcliffe Castle was still covered in snow.
Although two months had passed since they left for Orzammar, nothing seemed to have changed. The courtyard remained half-destroyed, the inhabitants hadn't stopped mourning their dead and Jowan was still behind bars.
"I was hoping they'd at least given him decent accommodations." Geralt commented sourly, walking up the stairs that led to Arle's study.
Aenor, beside him, was silent.
"I mean, he's been locked in there for months. I didn't think they'd move him to the Empress of Orlais' apartments, but even a freaking broom closet would be better than those freezing cold dungeons..." He slammed the staff down on the next step, as if to reiterate what he had just said.
"If Aemon doesn't keep his end of the bargain, we'll shove that stick up his ass." Aenor said through gritted teeth, her hand clenched on the hunting knife she carried.
"With maybe a side of fireball?"
"Sure, why not."
He chuckled, imagining the scene. He quickly recomposed himself, however; they had arrived.
The Warden knocked once on the door, only to enter without waiting to be invited.
"Arle Aemon, we need to talk."
The Arle was probably waiting for them but hastily set aside some papers, putting down a pompous looking quill. "Ah, Warden. You're still convinced you want that blood mage released, I take it?"
The elf nodded. "We've returned from Orzammar with the dwarven army's allegiance. Now hand Jowan over."
The old man scrutinized them carefully, leaning back in his chair. "He is a maleficar who escaped from the Circle, and he even poisoned me trying to kill me for Loghain."
With a snap, the elf slammed her open hand down on the wooden table, making them both wince. "The keys to the cell. Now."
In the Arle's defense, if he was scared he hid it well. He merely stared at her as a teacher watches a child throw a tantrum. "No."
"You swore-"
"That I would release him, yes." Aemon interrupted her, raising a hand. "But not to you. He will be sent back to the Circle, and they will deal with him as they see fit."
"That's like sending him to the slaughter!" Geralt growled, feeling the magical flow on the verge of erupting. "You can't leave him in the hands of the Templars!"
"Geralt." Aenor admonished him, before turning her green eyes back to the Arle. "You have two options: either you send Jowan with an escort to the Circle, and my companions and I free him by killing every last of your men, or you stop this fucking bullshit and hand him over to us without any more fuss."
The Arle widened his eyes. "Are you threatening me in my own palace?"
The Warden shrugged. "I am. Dead sure of it."
If Geralt hadn't seen Aenor threaten people with far more power than her before, he would have been surprised himself. But after seeing her covered in the dragon's blood, ogre's remains and more darkspawn's gore than he could keep track of, Arle Aemon was the one who would have to worry.
"Alistair would not agree with that." The man replied, but he was withdrawing in his chair.
"I defeated a high dragon to find the Ashes that saved your life. And it is also because of me, as well as Jowan himself, that your son was not killed like the abomination he almost was. You owe me far more than one life, shemlen." She almost spat the last word, daring the other to speak back. “Moreover, do I look like I would give a fuck about Alistair's complains?”
Arle Eamon seemed to consider the various options, but finally capitulated. "So be it, take him. But our debts are paid." He opened a drawer from which he pulled out a single key, a magical rune carved on it.
Geralt hurried to take it, weighing it in the palm of his hand, his heart beating wildly. Finally!
Now it was to be seen how Jowan would react.
They walked down to the dungeon doors, when the elf suddenly stopped. "I think I'll let you go alone... just don't screw it up after all this work, all right?"
He could swear he saw her wink at him, before disappearing towards the courtyard.
He inhaled deeply. "Maker's balls, Geralt, get a fucking grip!"
The hallway smelled bad and was dimly lit, exactly as he'd left it last time. He wondered if bits of his dignity were still lying around, splattered on the floor along with rubble and rat feces.
"Hello?"
Geralt emerged into the light of the torches beside the bars, keys clenched in his fist. "Hey."
“Geralt! I heard the Wardens had arrived, I was hoping-" He interrupted abruptly. "Have the Warden...?"
He flashed him his best smile, waving the keys under his nose. "You can thank us once you're out of here." The lock made a click that echoed off the stone walls, the metal door creaking open. He stepped aside with a slight bow. "You're welcome."
Jowan didn't hesitate for a moment, an incredulous smile on his face as he finally crossed the threshold. To Geralt's amazement and embarrassment, he pulled him into a brief embrace. "Thank you, Geralt. I owe you my life. Again."
It only lasted a few moments but he wished he could hold him all day long.
The other coughed awkwardly after taking a few steps back, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "So..."
"So."
They both burst out laughing, uncomfortable.
I knew it. I blew it. Good fucking job you moron! "I think we'd better get us a room at the inn down at the village. At least you'll be able to get a bath and some good sleep." Geralt offered, only to shut up immediately realizing how equivocal it might sound. "I mean, get you a room. A room of your own, at the inn."
Jowan nodded, blushing. "Yes, a room and a bath sound like a splendid idea..."
They reached the courtyard. He noticed his friend limping a little as he brushed his hand over the snow that had settled on the destroyed walls, taking deep breaths. Jowan closed his eyes, a blissful smile appearing on his face. "I never thought I'd get out of there. Not alive, at least." A tremor shook his entire body. Geralt felt again like an idiot: it was the middle of winter and Jowan had only light, ragged dirty robes to protect himself from the cold.
He took off his own fur-lined cloak and held it out to him. "Put it on, or you'll freeze to death." He mumbled, trying to give himself a tone.
"But what about you?"
"I'll be all right..." He huffed in response.
The guards in front of the gate stared them down with hatred but let them pass unharmed. They spent the short walk to the village in complete silence, Jowan seeming to enjoy the view and Geralt wondering if one could die of shame.
The inn was crowded as usual. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Natia, Zevran, Leliana and Kallian sitting at a table at the far end of the room, giving him nods of encouragement.
"I'll... see you later then?" Jowan mumbled, after the innkeeper had handed him the keys to the room and motioned for him to follow her upstairs. Apparently, the rest of the group had booked them a room in advance.
Geralt nodded, blushing again. "Yes, of course... at dinner. If you're hungry. See you later."
He wanted to slap himself in the face. He dragged his feet to the table where the others were seated. Zevran made room for him with a heartbroken sigh. "You should have followed him." He told him, handing him a glass of wine.
"You're kidding I hope." He retorted sourly. "He would have thought-"
"That you were worried about him." Leliana interjected gently. "You shouldn't make such a big deal about it, you know. After all, you've been friends all your lives, right?"
"Friends my ass! I've ruined everything and now he's probably itching to find an excuse to get rid of a.... Of a..."
"If you're going to finish this sentence with an insult about your sexuality, know that you're going to get a knife in the leg and it will only be for your own good." Zevran warned him, serious. "Now, drink up and then go knock on that door."
Geralt guzzled the wine, his only hope of being able to endure that torment. "And what am I supposed to say to him? 'You know, I saved you but you don't have to pretend to reciprocate my feelings. On the contrary, about that, I was drunk and I was totally joking, please forget about the whole conversation'?”
Zevran and Leliana exchanged a disapproving look.
Unexpectedly, however, it was Kallian who spoke up. "If you don't clear the air, you'll be left fretting forever."
"And you think it's easy to clear it up?"
She cast him an icy glare. "You killed a high dragon, mage, but now you're chickening out?"
Geralt sought Natia's help but she shook her head, raising her hands up. "Don't look at me, beanpole. I've been telling you the same thing for a while over and over, but you never listen to me, and If you don't, there's no use beating a dead bronto to the rock."
"I thoroughly despise you all." He mumbled as Zevran poured him a second glass.
Two glasses later and a large dose of encouragement from his companions, Geralt knocked at the door, a tray of food and a carafe of wine in hand. "Jowan?"
Jowan opened the door for him, clean clothes on (how had he gotten them?) and wet hair falling long over his shoulders. "Ah, you didn't have to... Thank you, you saved me from going down there with the whole world." He smiled gratefully at him, motioning to come in and sitting down on the bed. He was very thin, the marks of prolonged captivity making him look even more frail.
Geralt placed the tray on the only small table in the room then moved it over to the bed and sat down on a chair. "No problem, I've been there too. Sort of."
Jowan picked up a bowl of hot soup, tasting a generous portion. "Mhf, that's good... anyway, if it's a challenge, for once I think I'm the winner."
Geralt shook his head in amusement, taking some food as well. "I wouldn't bet on it."
He poured wine for both of them, eating quietly as Jowan looked like he wanted to swipe it all up before someone took it away from him.
He remained silent, waiting for Jowan to finish his food. This was an important speech, he couldn't risk him choking on the soup, could he? His gaze wandered around the room, lingering for a moment on the small tub. He noticed the water was slightly reddish. Blood. Either the wounds had never fully healed, which was quite unlikely, or the guards had enjoyed torturing him, taking advantage of the chains that prevented him from casting spells.
Once only the wine remained, he cleared his throat. "Jowan... About what I told you the last time we saw each other..."
"Geralt."
He lifted his gaze, hoping the long beard and hair would hide the blush on his cheeks.
"How long has it been?"
He took two more sips of wine. "At least since... I don't know exactly, I think I realized it when we were studying night and day on those stupid third era runes." He admitted in a whisper.
Jowan widened his eyes, doing the math. "But that was at least seven years ago! Couldn't you-"
"What was I supposed to do?!" Geralt then blurted out, defensively. "You didn't seem to notice anything, I thought you were too focused on studying to think about anything else and then you never spoke up in any conversations on the subject..."
"What are you talking about, no one ever- Wait, the others knew?"
He scratched his beard, uncomfortable. "Niall, for sure. Definitely Anders knew it too, but he was too busy smooching with Karl to-"
"Anders and Karl?!" Jowan interrupted him, increasingly shocked. "But wasn't Karl his study tutor?"
Geralt just stared at him. He couldn't tell if Jowan was bullshitting him or if he really had been, for all those years, completely oblivious to what was going on around him. "Jowan. Seriously. Did you think they were continuously disappearing to go dust books?"
It was the other's turn to blush violently. "I didn't think... I mean, I didn't think he was interested in..."
"..." How could anyone be so oblivious?! "Jowan. You had no idea that Anders and I liked men?" At that point, he wasn't the one who needed to be embarrassed. Maker's fiery balls, anyone with two working eyes would have noticed that!
"Well, I... you've always been popular, there's nothing weird about talking to someone and I couldn't know what exactly you've been doing with them...”
Geralt, watching his friend blush and stammer a bunch of nonsense, burst out laughing out until he felt tears in his eyes and an ache in his stomach, ignoring the other's offended protests. "This is absurd." He tried to calm himself, catching his breath, shaking his hair out of his eyes and tossing it over his shoulder. “Totally ridiculous."
"Are you done making fun of me?"
He glared at him, chuckling again. “No, I don't think so."
Jowan huffed, annoyed, setting down his glass and turning the other side. "Great. Let me know when you're done, I'll get comfortable in the meantime." He stretched out on the bed, his wet hair spread across the sheets.
Geralt allowed himself a brief moment to enjoy the view and then stretched his legs, rocking lightly in the chair as he did in the library what seemed like a lifetime ago.
"We didn't notice quite a few things, huh." He broke the silence after a while. "I'm sorry I pushed you into using blood magic."
Jowan didn't even move, staring up at the ceiling. "It wasn't your fault. I'm an idiot, I was jealous of you and the others. Surana seemed to have answers to everything, Anders planned an escape after another and he was always so reckless, while you..." he sighed deeply. "You were better at everything: magic, studying, making friends... if you hadn't talked to me the first day I got in the Tower, I think I would have thrown myself off."
Geralt remembered that very well. He had already been at the Tower for a year when Jowan had arrived escorted by a Templar, a trembling six-year-old with a head full of the nonsense his parents and the Chantry had fed him before sending him to that prison. At dinner, that very evening, Geralt had invited him to sit with him and Surana. In time Anders and Niall had joined them and the five of them had then become inseparable... at least until Uldred had arrived.
"Was it Uldred who put that idea in your head?" He asked him, thinking back to what the man had said at the Tower before completely turning into an abomination.
"No, I think I was feeling like that for a while now... And when you passed the Harrowing I began to wonder if they would ever let me try. But weeks went by and then months, and there were rumors that Uldred could teach spells that would allow you to survive the Harrowing. I was an idiot."
"But he was right, in a sense."
Jowan drew himself up, sitting up with a surprised look. "What do you mean?"
There's no point to keep lying to him, is there? Geralt pressed his thumb to the small knife on the table, letting out a few drops of blood. Power flowing within, he showed Jowan his hand as dozens reddish tentacles of blood magic raised up around him. "It is powerful."
His friend paled even further, widening his eyes, unable to tear them away from his hand. "Geralt, what have you done?" He stammered.
"Beat you to that too, I guess." He mumbled, closing his hand into a fist and interrupting the magic flow. "I was curious and ended up stealing some scrolls from that stupid Leorah's lab. Getting in touch with a demon who could answer my questions wasn't all that difficult."
The other didn't answer.
"Jowan..."
"So you do have flaws after all."
Geralt just blinked. "What?”
"You fall prey to demons like the rest of us." Jowan smirked. "I can't say if I'm disappointed or amused by that."
Oh, you have no idea how much I can fall prey to some demons... Geralt thought uneasily, a clear image of the desire demon that had tried to trap him at the tower etched forever in his mind. He shrugged. "I never said I was perfect."
"You never suggested otherwise, though." The other teased him. "Does the Warden know?"
"If I hadn't used Wynne's blood to save everyone's arse, we would have been eaten by a high dragon before we even reached those Ashes."
"Wynne?! And you're still alive to tell the tale?"
He chuckled. "Not by her concession."
"The Warden must be insane. I know the Dalish have different customs and the Chantry doesn't fill their head with fear and guilt, but deciding to spare the life of not one, but two blood mages..." Jowan shook his head, bewildered. He ran a hand through his hair, which was slowly drying. "I should cut it off."
"It looks good on you, you know." Geralt let slip. "Maybe just a trim. Beard too, while we're at it."
"If you say so. I trust the expert."
"Will just a couple of days be enough for you to travel?" He looked so fragile... the road to Denerim was not safe, they could be attacked at any moment, yet Geralt trusted that with such a large group he would be able to protect him.
Jowan nodded, massaging his sore wrists. "If I could get a couple of wraps... I've never been much of an healer, it's not my thing."
Geralt retrieved his bag, containing a few small vials of lyrium and three packets of processed elfroot. "Tell me about it... here you go."
He watched as Jowan smeared the ointment on his hands, then passed it over his wrists and around his neck. He unbuttoned his jacket then arched his back, trying to reach a spot between his shoulder blades. He grunted in pain, giving up. "Give me a hand?"
Praying he wasn't blushing like an idiot, he sat down next to him. The embarrassment disappeared immediately as soon as he saw his friend's back: it was scarred with several whip lacerations. He stroked him gently, trying to spread the poultice evenly without hurting him. "Some are recent."
He felt him stiffen. "It's not that bad."
"Jowan. One word and-"
"And what, Geralt, you're going to go burn alive every single asshole who ever took advantage of an incapacitated mage? You're going to leave a fifth of Ferelden's population alive, if they're lucky."
It wasn't fair. But he could see why he didn't want him to raise another fuss. "Maybe just the guards? They can do without a few of them."
"Please, don't do anything."
Geralt sighed, finishing spreading the ointment on him and reaching into his bag for some clean bandages. "As you wish. But it won't happen again, I promise." He had him lift his arms, passing the strips of cloth around his torso and securing them firmly.
He found himself inches from his face.
"Geralt?"
"..."
"Can I kiss you?"
The gulp of surprise died in his throat, overwhelmed by a series of feelings that ranged from confusion to elation to doubt that he was dreaming the whole thing. "What?" He managed to stammer, backing away a little and turning around pretending to fix a loose bandage.
Jowan swallowed noticeably, scratching the back of his hand. He was nervous. "I've been thinking about this for weeks. I mean if-"
"You don't have to do this." Geralt hurried to stop him, struggling to look him in the eyes. "You don't have to throw me a bone just because I got you out of there..."
"Hey! You really think I'm that much of an asshole?" Jowan shook his head, biting his already scarred lower lip. "It's just that I've been thinking about it since you... I mean, since that day. I've never thought about you like that, but you're still the person I care about the most and maybe... Yeah, you know, maybe that can work. Or not, but-"
Geralt stood absolutely still, not knowing what to do at all as his friend slowly approached, leaning forward until their lips brushed. Instinctively, he tilted his head slightly to the side, making it easier for him. Jowan placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, rubbing his nose against his. "The beard. It tickles, it's weird..." he whispered before deepening the contact, bringing his hand to the back of his head and pulling him closer.
At this point, Geralt was almost certain it was another demon but he chose to not care either way, taking initiative. He parted his lips, caressing his with his tongue and urging Jowan to embrace it as he moved up to cup his cheek with a hand, running fingers through the damp hair.
Jowan drew back a little, breaking the contact and running his thumb over his lips.
Geralt felt his heart sink. It didn't work. He was almost about to rise to his feet when Jowan pulled him closer, whispering for him to continue.
He didn't need to tell him twice.
He kissed him again trying not to be too rough, then moving to his ear and down to his neck. Jowan tilted his head, a moan escaping his lips as his fingers tightened on the fabric of his robes. He stroked his chest, the other's hands fumbling with his vests, unable to pull them open.
Geralt then forced himself to pull away, looking into his eyes, Jowan's hair entwined between his fingers. "Are you sure?"
Jowan's breath was short and his flushed cheeks stood out against skin so pale and thin. He placed a hand on his cheek, tickling his beard and pressing his thumb to Geralt's lips. "How many more times are you going to ask me that?"
"Sorry, I just want to make sure-"
Jowan kissed him again, laying down on the soft bed and pulling him too, shutting down any more doubts that might be buzzing around in his head. Geralt felt a bulge press against his thigh, but nothing compared to how much his own pants felt tight. When Jowan instinctively lifted his groin up, sensitive to the attention Geralt was giving him, he felt a surge of magical energy pervade them both, releasing tiny sparks on contact.
Geralt dropped on his knees, opening Jowan's belt and lowering his pants to his ankles.
He was such an handsome sight. So exposed, his bare skin needing his every touch, head reclined on the pillow and face covered by an arm to hide his embarrassment, his half-open legs not even trying to hide his arousal.
Geralt wanted to do all kinds of things to him but he restrained himself, straining to keep in mind that this was probably the first time Jowan had found himself so exposed and likely not just with a man. He had no idea how far he'd gone with...
He shook his head, not wanting to think about that bitch, climbing back onto the bed to kiss his chest while he went to explore Jowan's crotch with a hand, stroking his length with gentle motions and lapping at a nipple, the other hand caressing his abdomen.
Jowan moaned again, getting harder in his grip.
Geralt could not resist. He lowered himself again, breathing onto his erection and admiring the sight of it twitching slightly, red and hard and in need of his tongue.
He complied hungrily, licking the tip and then his entire length, cupping his balls and taking it all in his mouth, letting out a satisfied grunt that reverberated on Jowan's dick. Then he set to work, determined to give him everything he had, savoring every bit of it, finally tasting the real him.
His own erection was hard as stone and almost hurting, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching down a hand to it, pumping himself in unison with his laps, already feeling it leaking precum.
When Jowan's hands grasped his hair, pushing inside his throat and meeting up with his movements, Geralt let out another moan, loudly.
After a few other thrusts he felt Jowan freeze, trying to pull him away a bit. “Geralt, I'm about to...”
He let him out with a lewd “pop”, staring up at him while massaging his balls, still pumping himself vigorously, cheeks flushed and raw breath.
Jowan was a mess as well, teary eyes and even more reddened than he was.
“I want to taste all of you.” Geralt groaned, lapping at his skin, engulfing his length again and finishing him off, Jowan's moans music to his ears. When the salty taste filled his mouth Geralt came too, almost gagging and having to let go of him to catch his breath, panting.
He closed his eyes, feeling the shame take over him again, but felt Jowan's hand lazily brushing his head then pull him up to the bed with him.
“I liked that...” Jowan whispered in his ears, barely audible, cheeks flushed. "A lot."
Geralt was still having trouble believing it wasn't some dream in the Fade but he smiled back at him, letting Jowan curl up against him and waiting for him to fall asleep, gently stroking his hair.
"So, how did it go?"
"From the look on his face, I imagine very well..."
Geralt couldn't help but smile as he took a seat on the wooden bench outside the inn. It had finally stopped snowing and despite the crisp air, it was almost pleasant to be sitting out there. Zevran, Natia and Aenor stared at him insistently, waiting to hear the report of his exploits. "It... went great."
“Better than a demon, I guess.” Natia muttered, teasing him and poking between his ribs. "Give us the spicy details, beanpole."
"Maybe not all of them..." Retorted the Warden with a grin. "But I'm glad you two worked it out."
"Ah, I've always loved introducing the many pleasures of sex to men who thought they were only interested in women." Zevran bragged, his gaze lost in memories. "When you first take them-"
"On that note, which of you...?" Natia interrupted him, placing herself cross-legged on the wooden crate she was sitting on, the air of someone who was genuinely interested.
Geralt felt his cheeks burning. "I didn't- I didn't want to overdo it. There was just a few kisses..."
"My friend, you have the face of someone who has given far more than a kiss."
He raised his eyebrows, winking. "I didn't say where I kissed him."
Natia and Zevran cheered loudly.
"Well, those clean clothes I told the maid to put in your room didn't get much use..."
"Thanks anyway, Zev. I hadn't even thought of that."
“That is because you could only think about him naked, just out of the bathtub, drops of water running down to his-"
"Whoah, that's a bit too much not requested info!" Aenor immediately stopped them with a laugh, pulling an old looking wooden pipe from her pockets. "Make yourself useful, mage, light up here."
He summoned a small flame. Geralt immediately recognized the smell, bursting out laughing.
"Dried elfroot! Ah, so many fun memories... I wonder if our old supplies are still hidden in those books up in the Tower!”
Aenor inhaled deeply, then handed it to him. "You have no idea how much effort I put into fixing it, it was really messed up. I carved it, sure, but there was some metal worked that required finesse."
"It turned out the old blacksmith can make himself useful not only by drinking all Redcliffe's booze." Giggled Natia, extending a hand in Geralt's direction.
The mage savored the smoke coming into his lungs, then threw it out in small concentric circles.
"Nice." The dwarf seemed to have some difficulty as she coughed violently, having inhaled too much. "Ugh, I must be doing something wrong."
"Don't overdo it, my little friend, you have to taste it on your tongue first and then let it gently slide down your throat..."
Natia laughed between coughs. "Zev, we're still talking about smoke, right?"
He threw her what should have seemed like an innocent look. "Of course."
Zevran found himself elbowed in the side. "I don't need lessons on that, pointy ears!"
She was about to take another shot when a shout from upstairs was quickly followed by a thud. They jumped up, recoiling as blood smeared the snow on the ground, the man's corpse thrown below a few feet from them.
"Fenedhis lasa!" He heard Aenor exclaim, her eyes focused on the windows.
After a few seconds, Kallian peeped out from the top floor, worriedly. "Is he dead?"
Geralt raised an eyebrow. "No, he's perfectly fine."
"He can't wait to do it again, he says being thrown from the third floor onto sharp rocks is good for tired limbs!" Zevran yelled right after, chuckling.
Kallian muttered something back, probably insults.
"He's dead all right." Natia said. As usual, she was not intimidated at all and went to examine the body. She rummaged in his pockets and pouches, grinning triumphantly. "Finders keepers."
"Can't get enough of it, huh..." Geralt sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly. "You're awful."
"Hey, who did that?!" Shouted a man drawn to the commotion, his gaze focused on the body.
"He did it all by himself..." Zevran promptly replied. "We saw him come out of one of the windows, probably drunk from the way he was swaying, decanting an ode to Andraste's tits, toasting the health of the Prophetess, losing his balance and falling downstairs. A tragedy, indeed, I'm sure he was a promising poet. He had lingered so elegantly on the rosy nipples of the blessed maiden, her voice like that of a nightingale as she discovered the pleasures of-"
"Blasphemies! By the Maker, knife-ears, do not sully the Prophetess's name!" The man blurted, spitting down on the corpse and going back the way he came, suggesting that the corpse be removed and left for the wolves.
"Such charitable people, these devouts..."
"Found anything useful?"
Kallian and Leliana, both visibly shaken but unharmed, rushed over to analyze the body. "He was their leader."
Natia, after a moment of hesitation, held out the corpse's pouch to them. "Leader of who?"
"He and three others tried to kill Leliana." Kallian cut whort, frantically rummaging through the contents and pulling out a paper. She handed it to Leliana after scanning it for a moment. "Denerim. It's a building in Denerim."
The woman frowned delicately, clutching the small parchment with a trembling hand. "It is her, there's no doubt about it. Who else would target me?"
"Do you mind bringing us up to speed on this new assassination attempt, or would you rather keep it a secret?" Aenor spoke up.
Leliana sighed, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. "I suppose I should tell you, you're right. When I escaped from Orlais I was framed by my mentor, who accused me of a crime of high treason that she had actually committed. Apparently she has learned that I'm alive and she's trying to set things straight.”
Kallian pointed to the paper. "That must be where she is now."
"Well, we're going to Denerim anyway, aren't we?" Zevran said, smiling. "We can show her how real assassins behave, not pathetic imitators."
Geralt barely held back a laugh. "I hope you're not talking about yourself, Zev."
"You wound me right in the heart, my friend."